S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

Ten thousand… It seemed an inconceivable number. It seemed even more inconceivable to imagine such a horde in battle.

Everyone glanced down from the ramparts to Dun Kiil itself. The town bristled with troops and weapons. Officers shouted orders to trained gardai as well as conscripts from the surrounding lands. The town steamed with the smokes of the forges, the smithies hammering out weapons even as the invaders approached. Catapults sat on the harbor front and out on the headlands, ready to hurl fiery boulders at the RI Ard’s ships as they approached.

But there were not ten thousand here. There was less than half that.

"How many Clochs Mor do they have?" Kianna Ciomhsog asked. The bantiarna’s sword was already unsheathed, clenched in a muscular hand. Her bright red hair hung braided and long, shimmering against the dull leather armor around her torso. Aithne shrugged.

"The runner said that the captains claimed there were at least three single hands of them used during the sea battle. But that could be an exaggeration."

Or an undercount. . None of them would say it. Jenna remembered the night of the Filleadh and the power she had unleashed. Three double hands of Cloch Mors were opened then. . MacEagan had one, as did Aithne, Moister Cleurach, Ennis’ friend Mundy and one other Brathair of the Order. One single hand. The Ri Ard could have two double hands and more.

One of them, she was certain, would be Aron O Dochartaigh. He would be out there, as would Mac Ard and the Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain..

Ironic, isn’t it, how firmly you turned the little bastard down when he offered you marriage. Won’t he be amused to find you married here, when you

could have been the Tanaise Banrion, to one day be Banrion Ard. .

So much would have been different, if she'd accepted. She might never have met Ennis again, but he would be alive. She would never have gone to Thall Coill, and Seancoim would still be walking in Doire Coill with Denmark on his shoulder. Maybe that would be better.

You can't go back and change any of it. That's not within even Lamh Shabhala's power.

"We should retreat now," Rl MacBradaigh muttered, staring down at his troops. The Ri's eyes were wide as he turned to look back at the others gathered with him, and his dry white hair was wild in the wind "w could leave a small force here to hold them back and give us time to rejoin the families we've already sent back to the mountains." He looked from one to another of them, as if searching their faces for some agreement Jenna turned away so she didn't have to see him. "Doesn't that make sense?" he asked. "We could carry them from the mountains, cut them down bit by bit when it was safe, maybe find a better place to make a stand, maybe even Sliabh Mlchinniuint again…"

"Which we'll do if it becomes necessary," Aithne told him, speaking to him like a stern parent to a misbehaving child. "Not all of them will land here. And none of their Holders are trained cloudmages, nor do they have Lamh Shabhala." Jenna felt everyone look to her with that pronounce-ment.

She could think of nothing to say. I'm not your salvation, she wanted to say. Don't look at me as if I were. She felt ill, nauseous. She placed her hand on her stomach, pressing it tightly.

"We'll meet them as they land," Kianna said. "I need to go speak with those who will be fighting with steel. Banrion, I leave the strategies for the cloudmages to you. Ri MacBradaigh, will you go with me? Our people would like to see their leader."

"I… I don't know what to tell them," the Ri stammered, looking frightened, and Kianna exchanged glances with Aithne.

"I'll tell you what to say," she told the man. "All you'll need to do is keep a brave face on." She gestured toward the keep; the Ri, with a final look back at the sails on the horizon, shuffled slowly toward the archway to the balcony, with Kianna following.

Banrion Aithne sighed. "We shouldn’t stay here, that’s for certain," she said. "The keep will be an obvious target for the clochs. Better that they not know where we are. Jenna, where do you want to make a stand?’

"Down at the harbor," Jenna answered. "We’ll need to be close as they come in so they’re within range of our clochs; if we must, we can retreat back up toward the keep and the mountains with the rest of the troops.

Aithne, Jenna knew, could have blamed her for this. Maybe she was right, all along. Perhaps if I’d listened to her, if we’d made the attack on Falcarragh first before the Ri Ard was ready as she and the Comhairle wanted…She could say that it’s my fault, that the Ri Ard wouldn’t come here at all except for me… But there was no accusation in Aithne’s voice or face, only a solemn acceptance of their task. "Then that’s where I’ll stand as well. I’ll tell Moister Cleurach to meet us there." With that, she swept away toward the keep, leaving Jenna and MacEagan alone.

"We’ll get through this," MacEagan told her. "The tuatha have never been able to conquer Inish Thuaidh. The Ri Ard will suffer the same fate as the rest, and fifty years from now, the bards will be singing the Song of Kiernan o Liathain the way they sing of Mael Armagh now, and laughing at the man’s foolishness."

"I hope you’re right."

"I am. We might lose this battle, but we’ll prevail. Inish Thuaidh is a hard land, and the Tuathians are soft. They will break here, as they always have." He stopped. His hand lifted as if he were about to touch her shoul-der, then dropped back to his side. "You’ll live, Jenna," he said. "And so will your child."

Jenna nodded. On a pole on the keep’s tower, the blue-and-white flag of Inish Thuaidh snapped in the wind. Far out to sea, she could see the banners fluttering above the sails: the colors of the Tuatha: green and brown, blue and gold, green and gold. She could see the oars churning the water as the sun glinted on mail and steel.

"They’ll be here soon," she said. "Then we’ll know."

The battle for Dun Kiil began with a single sound:

the k-thunk as the arm of a catapult was released out on Harbor Head and a flaming ball went hurtling across the late afternoon sky. It splashed into the water in an eruption of water and steam a dozen yards short of the lead boat just entering between the inner bay's arms. Four more fireballs followed; two of them struck the ship and burning oil and grease splattered over the deck. Faint screams could be heard from the crew, and the oars splintered and fell as those on the ship leaped into the water, some of them aflame. Jenna, standing next to MacEagan near the end of the dock, heard a rag-ged cheer go up from the troops assembled close by.

The cheer nearly immediately went silent. The catapult nearest the fleet erupted in a gout of black smoke, pieces of shattered timber flying through the air. There were more screams, but this time it came from the Inishlanders manning the catapult.

The Clochs Mor had entered the battle.

The sky near the entrance to the inner bay darkened and swirled with storm clouds as a gale force wind blew out to sea, howling and shrieking and laden with blinding curtains of rain: Stormbringer awakened. Jenna could see the ships gathered near the harbor entrance and already trying to avoid the flaming hulk of the lead craft, suddenly heel over. Sails went down-cut or torn, she didn't know-and oars lashed the water, pushing the boats forward against the tempest. Two more catapults fired, and an- other ship was bathed in a gushing inferno; a moment later, fireball hissed away from the incoming ship, and both catapults exploded The ships pushed on.

The Inner Harbor had been closed off with chains and nets hung just under the water between Little Head and Harbor Head. The first few ships hit the barriers and were stopped, but only for minutes before they were cleared. The first ships moved into the Inner Harbor